


Up You Go

by LibertinePast



Category: Cobra Kai (Web Series), Karate Kid (Movies)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Massage, alternate Pulpo, caretaker Johnny, college HC for Johnny, injured Daniel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:08:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28278147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LibertinePast/pseuds/LibertinePast
Summary: Daniel accepts Johnny's challenge to see whose leg can go higher.  One sensei elevates another.A Secret Santa gift for @tk-buckley/ @daniellawrusso  on tumblr.  I hope you enjoy it!
Relationships: Daniel LaRusso/Johnny Lawrence
Comments: 13
Kudos: 114
Collections: Cobra Kai Secret Santa Exchange





	Up You Go

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to lostmagician for helping me with this story when I got stuck!

The parking lot of Corazon’s restaurant has seen some things.

Fights, girls puking over the doors of their soft tops, even a naked _cantante_ with a classical guitar over his junk.

A “whose leg can go higher” contest is a first.

It’s almost sundown. They’ve been warming up for at least 20 minutes, side-eying each other’s stretches.

“We look ridiculous. You know that, right, John? We’ll probably end up slippin’ in hot sauce out here.”

“Oh, you haven’t seen anything ridiculous yet. The loser goes back inside and dances like Van Damme in Kickboxer in front of everybody. _With_ the splits.” 

Daniel snorts with laughter. “Seriously?” 

“If your moves at prom were a preview, you won’t even think it’s embarrassing, LaRusso,” Johnny smirks. “Buuut with your luck, they’ll probably stand up and cheer.”

“Please. You could split your damn pants, clothesline the waitress and everyone still would be like, _‘he’s the best,_ ” he snips, pitching his voice up.

“Yeah, I could make it work too, couldn’t I? Alright then. Axe kick, best of two, punishment TBA by the winner.” 

“C’mon, no punishments, alright? I already know my Bobby Brown knee will be payin’ for this for a week….what’s that face for?” he sighs at Johnny’s twisted expression.

“Nothing, just...you don’t know the half of it, man, that bothered him for years and he went in the damn seminary because of it.”

Daniel is taken aback. “I...didn’t know that. Or that the Church of Satan even had clergy.”

"Oh, cute. C’mon, let’s just do this, alright? Ladies first.” 

Daniel simply steps up and doesn’t even balk at the dig. He decides at the last minute to use his left as his supporting leg. He reminds himself not to hold his breath, tempting as it is with Johnny’s scrutinizing eyes sizing up his form. He loosens up his right leg once more, gets in position and--

It goes high. Oh, there’s no question about that.

His teeth grit in the air as he feels the pop in the back of his thigh. Somehow he lands on his left foot and then folds back on his ass on the pavement. “AH!”

“Oh, shit!” Johnny plunks down next to him on his knees.

Daniel hasn’t said anything intelligible through his teeth yet. “...think I tore my hamstring….” he finally manages.

“Yeah, I think I _heard_ it.” 

“....does this mean I won?”

“Uh, no, but there’s no way in hell I’m going next _now._ ” 

“AH! I can’t bend it, but I can’t straighten it out either.” 

“Here, like this,” Johnny says, adjusting Daniel’s leg to keep it neutral. “See, told you you’re a lucky bastard. I went to school for kinesiology.” 

“You did?”

“Well, I _went._ Didn’t finish. I know a few things though.” 

“A-a few things--” Daniel is blitzed by pain and barely processes this revelation. He’s interrupted by a ding in his pocket and takes out his phone.

_ >>Carmen and I went to find some actual fun and human engagement. Srsly can’t wait to find out who wins the Rockette contest. 🤢?? _

_Talk about focus! More like tunnel vision. I knew the minute we saw him it would just be you looking at him through a paper towel roll all night_

“What,” Johnny sighs at the eyebrow-scrunched face Daniel’s making.

“The girls left.”

“You gotta be kidding me. Nobody said they couldn’t come out here and watch.” 

“Oh right, and then what, carry our books?”

Johnny puffs his bangs airborne. “C’mon, Hams, let’s go track them down and grovel at their feet. You’ll literally be at their feet,” he chuckles.

“N-no--she’ll kill me for putting myself out of commission after all the time I’ve spent away from the dealership—can I just—“ he babbles at a mile a minute. “—I just need asylum for a little bit!”

“Yeah, that’s for sure. So you want to hide at my place for something she’s eventually gonna find out about anyway?”

“Just for now? At least until they have a few drinks in them. This whole stupid contest was your idea!” 

“Alright, alright. Consider this a token of ‘please don’t sue my ass.’ But if you crash on my couch, you have to let me work on that leg.”

Daniel is still awestruck that Johnny studied how the human body moves. For someone who moved like him, it made all the sense in the world. 

For someone who could inflict pain like him, it meant something to know he’d tried to devote his life to healing. 

“Johnny, I--I dunno, when’s the last time you used your training, when you still believed in Milli Vanilli?”

“FYI, I was on to those frauds all along--but yeah, I use it. My kids get hurt all the time.”

“Of course, what was I thinkin’.” 

“...now, what the hell am I gonna do with you…? Oh! I can have the valet park right here and shine the headlights in your face. How’s that for service?”

  
  


When the Challenger rolls up, it does just that, and Daniel is the grumbling, squinting deer. The valet gets out at a loss. “So...what exactly happened here?” 

“Eh, don’t ask, here you go.” Johnny tosses him a few bills. “Keep it between you and Washington.” 

“Uh...my lips are sealed…?” the valet snickers , and walks away.

Johnny shrugs and slaps his jeans. “OK, Hams, up you go, let’s get you in shotgun.” 

“I don’t know if---uughmp!--” 

He yanks him up from under his arms and Daniel hangs there, his weak left leg supporting everything as he scrambles to position the failing right. “I can’t put weight on it.”

“Well I’ve got you, and you won’t.” 

Daniel leans heavily on his shoulder as they stumble along to the passenger side. Daniel limping is a familiar sight, especially in a parking lot. Johnny shudders. They look at each other for a moment, the lights of West Hollywood making their eyes violet and burgundy. Daniel bites his lip and they quickly look at opposite sides of the lot.

Flopped in his seat, Daniel doesn’t comment on the Challenger’s over-the-top paint job, not even the stick shifter that looks like a cartoon villain’s cane. The ride to Reseda is mostly silent, especially in the shadow of memories on Saticoy. The radio is off. 

Johnny’s grip is tight on the steering wheel. He racks his brain for the anatomy of the upper leg. _Biceps femoris,_ right under the hip bone _(_ LaRusso will be like _“You tryin’ to touch my ass??”). The semitendinosus. A figure eight motion of the knuckles down the length of the thigh._ Yeah, not a good look, but it’s not like karate doesn’t have a weird intimacy of its own.

He pulls up to the battered courtyard of Reseda Heights and Daniel is unable to hide his frown. “So, this is....”

“What can I say, it’s no South Seas. Watch your head when I carry you over the threshold, Danielle.” 

“Oh, God, you’re not even kidding, are you…”

“Nope.” 

It’s easier to bridal-carry him through the door, really. Johnny scoops him out of his seat, a light, lanky bundle of nerves. After Johnny manages to get his key in the door under Daniel’s legs, the brunette looks around the most standard, beige apartment he’s ever seen. There’s some Americana straight off a Trapper Keeper, and a picture of leggy babes that looks like a still from a beer commercial. 

“So, uh, this is the yurt,” Johnny sighs.

“Nyeah, love what you’ve done with it, you gonna put me down now?” 

“Careful what you wish for, LaRusso.” 

Johnny flips him and plunks him on the worn couch on his face. “Mppph!” he shrieks into the lumpy leather arm, pushing up on his elbows. “C’mon, I can’t turn over!”

“You don’t have to. I need to get to the back of your leg, so lay on your vodka gut for me, okay?”

Daniel feels his pants sliding down. “Johnny?!?”

“What! I can’t do this through your tight little chinos, it’ll feel like shit. You gotta give that hammy some air, man.” Johnny pulls down the pants, leaving boxer briefs and tan, hairy legs exposed. “Not that it’s gonna get any under this rug,” he laughs.

Daniel growls and turns his head to the side on the floppy arm of the couch. “You got any pain pills before you start? I have a feeling your big behemoth hands are only gonna make this worse.” 

"Simmer down, you’re gonna end up pulling something else.” 

His hands haven’t even made contact yet and Daniel is about to shoot through the cracked ceiling. “...h’okay...probably right….”

Johnny’s palms land under Daniel’s hip bone, then work down his thigh. He shudders to think that the only person who ever manipulated his muscles like this, almost invasively, was Mr. Silver.

But it’s not invasive. Daniel feels all the tension dissolve, not to mention a slow burning in his groin, and no, that definitely never happened with Silver.

He sinks into the couch as Johnny’s warm hands make circles down to the back of his knee. Daniel tries not to make a noise, because he knows it’ll sound like a weird moan. He sucks his breath in tight so nothing keens out, and feels his heart slamming against the worn leather. 

“Doing okay?”

Daniel finally exhales and coughs. “Who, me?” 

“Who else would I be talking to, jackwad? You one of those people who gets a little massage drunk?” 

Daniel feels more like a touch-starved animal. The junction of this thigh and ass being the stopping point is driving him crazy. “...maybe. Why didn’t you finish your….schooling in this?” he asks, his voice cracking.

Johnny works his forearm into Daniel’s thigh, suddenly aware of every goose pimple and artery. “Decided to take a year off instead. Everybody knows how that goes.” 

His hands work back up to just under the curve of his boxer briefs, pain becoming a distant memory. Except for the bittersweet strain under his belly, threatening to impale the cushions. His pants pooled around his ankles feel like restraints.

Daniel gives up trying not to make any noise, and sighs deeply.

Up until this point, Johnny has been in control, keeping weird thoughts at bay, but that one breathy groan is a “mayday” moment.

He wants to take a nose dive into Daniel’s leg and nip at the inside of his thigh.

He closes his eyes and shivers. He switches his brain to baseball, Zarcharian, the piss fountain in the courtyard….

“...unnnh...this is better….I’m sorry I doubted you, Johnny.”

A short reply comes out of Johnny’s mouth that kind of sounds like “Yip.” 

“How long should this be for like….max effectiveness?” 

_As long as I want it to be,_ is inner teen Johnny’s snippy response. He inwardly slaps his younger self. “Just don’t conk out, ‘cause there goes your plan to hide out here ‘til Amanda’s in a more understanding mood. She won’t be in the morning.”

“I won’ fall asleep. So, uh, Bobby’s a priest now, huh?”

Religion is a perfect topic, actually, considering Johnny’s hands feel like they’re on fire with every manipulation, the direction of his own blood flow...questionable. “Priest? Whoa, no, Episcopal pastor. He was guilty about the tournament, but not like, _vow-of-chastity-_ guilty.” 

“Kissing God’s ass for screwing up isn’t the only reason to choose that path, y’know.”

“Well, not everyone is as innocent as you _think_ you are.”

“...so, do you think Pastor Bobby would have any words of wisdom about you and Kreese?” 

“Listen...I should’ve told you earlier when you started talking shit at the table--I kicked Kreese out. We’re done. See, when you shut your chili-releno-hole for five seconds, you get some important deets.” 

God, the mere mentioning of Kreese’s name should make the arousal disappear in Guinness Record fashion, but ‘kicked out’ changes everything. “...wait, wha—seriously?”

“I thought it was kinda obvious that second chances are probationary.” 

“What was the…breaking point?” Daniel inhales, nearing his own as Johnny’s healing hands trail up again.

“I felt like Julia Roberts opening the cupboard with how he rearranged my office. And he was trying to turn my kids into mercs. And...I didn’t like the shit he said about Miyagi.” 

Daniel goes completely still. “You...didn’t like the things he said about _him._ ” 

“Well, yeah. I don’t hold the dumb shit you do against your Sensei. I’ve been to his grave, too. I didn’t know where it was before, but Miguel showed me this webpage called Find a Grave dot com...” 

Daniel is somehow both outside his body and very aware of his heart cracking his sternum. Johnny is still talking, still massaging, clueless how monumental his words are. Daniel slowly pushes up from the couch and faces him, nothing in his countenance telegraphing what he’s about to do, which is unusual for someone who wears his heart on his face.

If he gets punched, it doesn’t matter. He’s already in pain anyway. Not just from the hammy, but this feeling that his next breath will stall out if he doesn’t give into this.

“What. Did I hurt y--” His eyes are wide when Daniel blocks his mouth with his own, the polar opposite of hurt.

Johnny’s eyes are shut instantly, questions overridden by trust. His pitched up moan sounds like a girl in his head, but the slow, exploring tongue in his mouth heals any worry. His own tongue meets Daniel’s lazily, letting him push and lead. Johnny was never a face-holder, but his thumbs are resolute on Daniel’s jaw. 

Suddenly Johnny can’t even remember the guilty thought of his nose between Daniel’s thighs. At least the guilt part.

Really, this is a natural thing to happen between two people on a couch, one with his pants off, the other trying to knead his muscles into submission.

They drift apart iceberg slowly, eyes both dazed and tightly focused on each other’s lips.

“I’m...sorry about the contest,” Johnny breathes, his voice very low.

“-I-it’s ok, I like your couch,” is the trembling, whispered reply.

“I really did throw you on it to help your leg. And….possibly bite it at some point. Make it look like an accident.”

That wicked smile and laugh has Johnny dragging him back into his chest, his legs feeling limber enough to climb into his lap after he shucks his shoes and pants off.

“How’s that for progress,” Johnny says against his lips. “‘Screaming to Straddling’ was gonna be the name of my physical therapy place, actually.” 

“It’s not too late. You’re good at this. Too good,” he hums against the faint blonde hair on his neck.

Daniel has never wanted muscle memory of an injury before, to feel like he needs someone’s touch to guide the motion of his blood, to kiss someone because they talked about a grave. He holds Johnny down on that worn couch and gives him a lesson on the anatomy of his heart.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



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